Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death by authors_sort

wishing wouldn’t change it.
    Kate washed her hands at the sink, wiped them on a small towel, and went back to making coffee.
    Sam leaned against a kitchen counter and watched. She moved quickly yet smoothly, no jerks or jumps or stumbles. Good balance. Great hands. The confidence that came of being in a familiar place.
    Sexy too. Way too sexy.
    Very soon he had a mug of rich, dark coffee steaming underneath his nose. He sipped, sighed, and sipped again. Then he settled back in a kitchen chair and wondered if he really would have to grill Katherine Jessica Chandler like a cheese sandwich to get any information.
    The telephone rang before he could decide.
    As Kate reached for it, she asked Sam, “Does the name Lee Mandel ring any bells for you?”
    The mug stopped halfway to Sam’s mouth.

Chapter 16
    Scottsdale Royale
    Midnight Tuesday
    Ted Sizemore’s voice cut through the fog of smoke and alcohol chatter at the hotel bar like a brass buzz saw.
    “Hey, if it isn’t Jack Kirby! You old son of a bitch, what are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in years.”
    Kirby turned, spotted Sizemore, and held out his hand. “I’m working, what else?”
    “Still skip-chasing?” Sizemore asked, pumping the former Drug Enforcement Administration agent’s hand vigorously. He and Kirby had worked on the crime strike force that had made Ted Sizemore a legend.
    “Along with background checks, divorces, child custody, and lost cousins. The usual PI stuff.” And some other things that weren’t usual, but sure paid well. Not that he was going to talk about that part of his business with old “Straight and Narrow” Sizemore.
    “You look like you’re doing all right,” Sizemore said. He knew Kirby was nine years younger and had a full head of close-cropped gray-brown hair, but that wasn’t the real difference between them. Kirby was fit in the lean way that was genetics as much as hard work.
    “Nothing big,” Kirby said. “Nothing fancy like you. But being a private investigator pays the bills with a little left over to put a few bucks on the ponies when I’m bored. But don’t tell my ex-wives. They think I should be eating dog food in a slum.”
    Sizemore snickered. “Sit down. I just finished an interview with one of the local reporters.”
    “The media always did love you,” Kirby said. And vice versa.
    “I sell papers,” Sizemore said as he signaled the bartender. “What are you drinking these days?”
    “Gin and tonic. Thanks.” Kirby settled onto the bar stool and looked around the room with the eyes of a former cop gone private. Nothing to worry about here. Just a gathering of conventioneers and good old boys. He gave Sizemore his full attention. “How are Sharon and Sonny?”
    “Pain in the ass, that’s how.” Sizemore took a long swallow of beer. “Gotta watch Sharon like a frigging hawk or she’ll ‘forget’ to ask me and just run the damn show herself.”
    “She always was a pistol.”
    “And Sonny always was a blank round,” Sizemore said.
    “You’re too hard on the boy.”
    “Yeah yeah,” Sizemore said without interest. “I hear that from Sharon twice a week. How are your kids?”
    “Grown and gone, like the last two wives.”
    Sizemore shrugged. “Same shit, different day. What brings you to Scottsdale?”
    “A cheating, lying, no good son of a bitch husband.”
    Sizemore snickered and finished the beer. He rapped the bottle smartly on the bar. “How much is he worth?”
    “To me or to his wife?”
    “Fuck the wife, she’s probably doing the gardener.”
    Kirby laughed. Even when Sizemore’s tongue was thick with alcohol, his mind was still quicker than most. “That bad-boy husband is worth a couple hundred a day and expenses to me. What brings you out of L.A.?”
    “Business. I’m security advisor/coordinator for the National Coalition of Gem and Jewelry Traders.”
    “So, you tuck them in bed when they’re drunk?” Kirby said, gesturing with his glass to a table of